The Ballad of Love and War
by ChichaApaza
Summary: Jack Sparrow is a man on a mission- the 17 year old girl he's been interested in for a few months. With the help of a few good friends and a reluctant Hector Barbossa, he brings an unknowing Chicha into a new world of intrigue, bloodshed, and secrecy. AU based on a Tumblr Ask. All Chapters named for songs listened to while writing chapter. *Was formerly under the name "Small Hours"
1. Barely Legal

Migrant workers.  
Everyone looked down on them, as if they were the lowest man on the totem pole, but Jack thought differently. He'd often drive past the fields of workers, just to watch as they did the same meticulous and repetitive work each day, marveling at them. He could never do a job like that. He wasn't exactly lazy; but he preferred to work smart- not hard.  
It was grape season. She was harder to see during grape season.  
He was looking for the same girl he'd been watching for the last few months. He felt guilty, he felt like a stalker to be more accurate; she was... different. Strange. All the other migrant women had a hard look to them. Many of them were very beautiful but the were rough, calloused. They had stopped caring long ago for dreams and wishes, for beauty and love. All that mattered to them was dirt and the eternal itch of passion that they desired from someone other than their husbands. Many of them had even demanded money from him in exchange for a roll in the hay. But unlike the other women who focused only on the rows and rows of crops, heads down and faces somber; this girl laughed and smiled as she worked, every few paces looking up towards the horizon. She'd never demand money of him for love. He saw she had too much pride for that.  
He looked for her curly pass of hair, always held back from her face with a colorful scarf. She was always easy to pick out from the drab browns and grays and blues of the other women; the girl seemed to have a passionate hatred for earthly colors. He had never seen her once in a dress that was not a vivid color or a blend of colors; her tan skin looking beautiful and smooth against the colored cotton.  
Hector would be furious. No, not exactly...they had defined their relationship long ago with an escape hatch for either of them. But still, he knew the older man would be at the very least irritated. And irritation on Hector Barbossa was almost as unbearable as fury. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind. _Don't think about Hector right now. You need to focus. You're going to talk to her today. You're going to find a way to.  
_  
He had asked Marisol, one of the girls at the farm, about her. She had laughed, shaking her head.

"You're reaching for a shelf that isn't there," she teased him, "That girl is all about work."  
"Wot do you mean?" he asked, his fingers gently teasing her hair, "Just tell me her name."  
"Chicha," she replied, "Chicha Rosado. She came here a few months ago with her husband from Peru."  
"Chicha," he exhaled, enjoying the feeling of her name on his lips, "It's pretty. Do you know what it means?"  
"It means flesh," Marisol replied, chuckling, "But that girl lets nothing or no one touch that pretty flesh of hers. We went down to the market one day and a man offered her $200 for a rollabout, and she slapped him! $200 dollars," she tsked, shaking her head, "That girl has no eye for business. He wasn't bad looking either...a gringo if I remember correctly."  
"A gringo?" Jack asked, looking confused.  
"A white man, pasty faced. Dough colored. You know, an American."  
"And Gringos are better than other men?" he asked.  
"Tch. Hardly. They just pay better. But some of them, they're strange. A Spanish man would never ask for half of the things that Gringos ask for. One asked me to...Sweet Mother Mary, I can't even say it out loud." She leaned over and whispered in his ear, making him grimace.  
"Really?" he asked, looking a little sick.  
"Would I lie about something that disgusting?" she replied, shaking her head, "Anyways, why did you wanna know about Chicha? She's married you know. And her long legs are crossed tighter than a crucifix."  
"Oh really?" he chuckled, nipping at her neck, "Is she a catholic?"  
"Have you met a Spanish woman who isn't?" she grinned, leaning into his touches more.  
"I met you," he replied.  
"I'm only half Spanish," she replied, giggling, "Loophole."

He smiled as he drove, still looking for her. Marisol had done nothing to deter him from the object of his pursuit. If anything, she piqued his interest in the girl. He liked a challenge, and this girl was proving to be just his cup of spiked tea. He glanced about, and saw a vivid blue dot on the side of the road.  
Bingo.  
As he approached, she waved her arms, trying to get him to pull over. He had no problem with that; a perfect excuse for talking to her. As he pulled up, though, he saw the look on her face was unamused irritation- not what he expected. Her tawny eyes flashed angrily at him, her long lashes quivering with anticipation; she wasn't a girl to be messed with.  
"Can you stop stalking us?" she demanded, "We see you out here every day. Get your jollies somewhere else, pervert!"  
"I can't 'elp if I 'ave to drive past 'ere to get where I'm goin," he replied, flashing her a winning smile. He saw her posture slacken a bit, his smile had the effect he had hoped it would and he leapt on the chance, "So, wot's a pretty thing like you doin playin in the dirt an grime?"  
"Working," she replied, smiling, "I like getting dirty."  
"Oh really?" he said, wiggling his eyebrows. It was a hit or miss move, no in between. Finally she laughed, and he could breathe again. She leaned in his window, sticking out her hand.  
"Chicha Rosado," she said. He took her hand, shaking it gently.  
"Jack Sparrow," he replied, smiling.  
She turned around, heading back to the fields. He couldn't resist.  
"Wait!"  
She turned back to him, giving him a wink and yelling, "Till next time, Mr. Sparrow." He gunned the gas, barreling down the empty dirt road. Yes, she was a challenge.  
"Let the game begin, Luv," he muttered, grinning.


	2. Somebody

"There you are, you little punta!" Marisol yelled, running over and linking arms with Chicha, "You sneak! So, what do you think of him?"  
"Who?" she asked, blushing and smiling.  
"You like him!" Marisol giggled, patting her arm, "Oh, my little girl is growing up so fast! Look at her, going off and finding a gringo sugar daddy!"  
Chicha giggled, feeling her age again. She was only 17 for Christ's sake. She should giggle and peek at men and blush. Her giggles stopped in her throat at the sight of her husband lumbering back to their shanty.  
"I have to go," she said, disentangling her arm from Marisol's. Marisol grabbed her arm, staring at her hard.  
"Chicha," she said firmly, "You don't live in Peru anymore. You can be whatever you want." She smiled weakly at her friend, shrugging.  
"Mari..."  
"Don't you Mari me!" she scolded, releasing Chicha's arm, "He likes you, he really does. He asked me about you."  
"Really?" she asked, blinking hard.  
"Would I lie to my favorite person?" she asked, slapping her arm gently. There was a loud crash from the house, drawing both women's attention.  
"It's going to be bad tonight," Chicha said, looking tired.  
"You can come to my place," Marisol replied, patting her shoulder, "If it gets too bad, you come over. Okay?"  
"Okay," she said softly, looking at the suddenly foreboding house. Marisol kissed her cheek, skipping over to her own home just down the way. Chicha crept into the house, trying to be as quiet as possible.  
_Creeeak._  
Not quiet enough.  
"Where have you been?" Pacha demanded, looking at her irritatedly. She shrugged.  
"Marisol and I were talking out front," she replied, slipping her shoes off, "We don't get to talk during the day." She shuffled past him towards the kitchen, pulling out pots and pans to make dinner.  
"You had plenty of time for talking today," he said, his voice taking a strange tone.  
"What do you mean?" she asked, feeling a cold drop in her stomach. Had he seen her? He came at her, pinning her to the wall with his beefy arms on either side holding her in.  
"I want to know his name!" he yelled in her face, making her flinch. She stared at him, her face blank and impassive.  
"I don't know it," she replied, looking at him firmly, "I asked him to stop driving past and staring at us. It was bothering the Abuelas." He moved as if to slap her, but decided better of it, closing his fist and punching the wall. He grabbed the crown of her head, shaking her hard.  
"Don't lie to me!" He yelled.  
"She's not lying, you son of a pig!"  
They both turned to see Marisol standing in the doorway, a two by four gripped tightly in her fists. Pacha released his grip on Chicha, shoving her towards Marisol.  
"Get out," he told her, "Don't come back either, you whore!" Marisol whipped the board at him before dragging Chicha out of the house. Chicha shoved her hair out of her face, shaking her head. Every other day, it was leave, then begging her to come home. They stumbled through the door, and Marisol shoved her down into a chair before turning to fill a cup.  
"I don't know why you put up with it," Marisol said, handing her a cup of water, "You're not going back there. Ever." Abuela Martinez hobbled into the room, tsking as she went.  
"Chicha, Chicha, Chicha," she sighed, "Again?"  
"Yes, Abuela," she said quietly. For some reason, any time Abuela even sniffed trouble in Chicha's marriage, she managed to make her feel terribly guilty about it. She stared at the unswept floorboards under her bare feet, suddenly intensely interested in dust particles. Marisol shrugged, stirring a large pot on the stove.  
"Abuela, give her a break," she admonished her grandmother, "If I remember, Papi was like this too."  
"But I don't want either of mi amors dealing with that life. I scold because I love."

Chicha and Marisol exchanged a knowing look. When Chicha left home with Pacha, the first person she saw after being in a tiny, lightless truck for 16 hours was Marisol. Marisol was the one who welcomed all the new workers, and Marisol had taken a shine to her much younger charge. As she taught Chicha the ropes, they became increasingly close. Marisol was the first person to ever know about Pacha's mean streak. Abuela Martinez was Marisol's grandmother, but seemed to be everyone's grandmother. The other elderly women were mean from all the years of hard work, but Abuela Martinez was not. She was beloved by almost everyone at the farm, even the foremen. She no longer worked in the fields, but stayed in their little shanty town and cared for the children too small to work or go to school.  
Abuela Martinez had been working on this farm since 1952, when she escaped her husband in Mexico City and came to California, looking for a better life. Marisol's mother had grown up and worked there as well, but she had run off with some gringo man when she was 16. A year later, Marisol was on Abuela's porch in a basket with a note. Abuela never complained or denied her beloved Marisol, teaching her industrious and eager granddaughter everything her lazy daughter had not wanted to learn. Marisol was now a foreman's assistant, and she used her power to help all the workers.  
Chicha found a comfort in Abuela and Marisol that she had never known- a solidarity between hardworking women. They'd all known pain, sweat and dirt; and so they understood each other. The only thing Marisol and Chicha did not agree on was men. Marisol considered men hurdles to be passed, sleeping with several foremen for better conditions, gringos for money, and fellow workers for the hell of it. Chicha on the other hand had never slept with a man.  
Never.  
And she planned on keeping it that way.  
Jack Sparrow scared her. He was a man that could make her forget. He could make her give it to him. He wouldn't even have to push. All he'd have to do was ask.  
She was an idiot. An idiot with a plan.


	3. Special Needs

Chicha stood on the side of the road, exactly where she met him last time. She smiled as she saw the dumpy old pickup rumble down the road towards her, butterflies in her stomach. He came back again. Maybe he really did ask about her. He pulled up next to her, leaning out the window and grinning at her.  
"'Ello, luv," he said, "Seems you were right."  
"I'm always right," she replied matter-of-factly. He chuckled, reaching out and lifting her chin.

"'Ow old are you, luv?" he asked. She wrinkled her nose; she actually looked pretty cute with that expression on her face.  
"Not that it's any of your business," she replied, "But I'm 17."  
"An why is a pretty thing like you slavin' away 'ere?"  
"I have no choice," she replied, looking into the distance.  
"All alone, are ye?" he asked, genuinely curious.  
"I have Marisol and Abuela Martinez," she said softly.  
"And a 'usband," he added. She looked up at him quickly, a flush creeping across her cheeks.  
"Yes," she mumbled.  
"You know, that matters as much to me as your shoe size," he said, looking at her intensely, "And I'm not a fan of feet." She felt weak at the knees, but took the risk.  
"Why don't you come to dinner?" she asked, "Then you can see Marisol and Abuela."  
"Why would I want to see them?" he asked, trying to feign ignorance.  
"Because you asked Marisol about me." She turned on her heel, heading back to the rows of grape clusters demanding her attention.  
"Is this going to be 'ow we always end our conversations, luv?" he shouted.  
"Come to dinner and find out!" she yelled back, laughing. He threw the truck in gear, looking up to see Marisol on the corner of the field, giving him a thumbs up. He chuckled, peeling out in a cloud of brown dust.

"'ector," Jack said quietly, pulling on his clothes, "Wot do you know about Spanish women?" The older man sat up, grabbing an apple from the bowl non the nightstand.  
"Jack," he drawled, "Now why would ye be wonderin about Spanish whores? In me experience, the Spanish woman is good at three things: stealin yer money, praying, and a back alley suck." Jack winced, thinking of Marisol. She had become a bit of a friend and it struck him that she was good at two of those three things.  
"Wot about decent Spanish women?" he asked, slipping on his boots.  
"T'aint no such thing," Hector replied, "Where do ye think yer goin, boy?" He shrugged, glancing in the mirror for a moment.  
"Jackie," he said seriously, his tone taking a harder edge, "I've known ye too long for this runnin about. Wot be 'er name?"  
"Ow do you know it's a woman?" Jack asked, "Wot if I found another man?" Hector let out a raspy laugh, folding his arms.  
"Ye can't be serious," he replied, "Fine. In the face of unreasonable doubt, wot be _'is _name?" Jack grinned, pulling on his jacket and reaching for the doorknob.  
"You'd like 'er," he said, rushing out the door.  
"I don't make a 'abit of likin Spanish whores!" he shouted after him.

"Quit your fretting!" Marisol scolded, slapping at Chicha's fingers.  
"I can't help it," she said nervously, "Isn't this cheating? I'm a married woman."  
"If you're married, then I'm a virgin," Marisol snorted, "Anyways. You didn't bring any proof of your marriage, right? So there's no way to prove anything to anyone."  
"But..." Chicha bit her lip, still looking nervous.  
"I think God'll forgive you," she teased her younger friend, before throwing her hands dramatically in the air, "It's a lost cause. This hair cannot be tamed!" Abuela walked past, tsking as she went.  
"Marisol, let the girl be! The boy likes her just as she is- in fact, she's considerably dirtier when he usually sees her," she said, winking. Chicha blushed, covering her face.  
"You two will have to go somewhere else for dinner," Marisol said, sticking a twenty dollar bill in Chicha's hand, "Abuela needs her rest."  
"Mari!" she exclaimed, "I can't possibly-" Marisol held up a hand, cutting her off.  
"Jack gets me other work all the time. He's basically paying anyways, so enjoy," she said, plopping down next to Chicha, "Besides, get a huge meal and bring it home for me and Abuela." Chicha nodded gratefully, tucking the twenty in her bra. She examined her reflection in the mirror, scrutinizing what she saw. Her nose was too small. Her lips were too thin. Her eyes were too big. Her hair...oh blessed mother, don't even get her started on her hair. She snorted in frustration, whirling away from the mirror. Damn it all. Jack had probably been with ten thousand pretty girls. She wasn't anything special. What did he want? Damn it all.  
There was a quiet rapping at the door, and she listened as Abuela shuffled over and threw open the door.  
"Jackie my boy!" she exclaimed, "Now don't you go walking past me! Give old Abuela a hug, you rotten boy. And how is Hector?" She peeked out the door to see Jack wince, stooping to hug Abuela.  
"My apologies, Consuela," he replied, "'Ector is well enough. You know 'im. Naggy scraggly bearded git." Abuela smacked his arm hard, tsking him.  
"Jackie, do not say such things about your elders!" she scolded, "Now, have you heard from...him...recently?" The air in the room seemed to be sucked out at the mention of this...him. Jack rubbed the back of his neck.  
" 'E's been lookin somewhere else," he replied, " 'E wouldn't figure I'd be stupid enough to be on one of 'is farms. Last I 'eard, 'e was lookin in Texas."  
"Not stupid," she replied, "Crazy. And you are. Have you brought any work for Mari? You know I don't want her running..."  
"I would never," he replied in mock shock, "'Ow could I put sweet Marisol in such a compromisin situation? You wound me, Connie." Abuela rolled her eyes, shuffling over and settling into her rocking chair.  
"That was the intent, you imp. Oh well. These old bones are too tired for standing anymore. Weren't you here to visit someone?" She raised an eyebrow, gesturing her head towards a cracked door.  
"Is Marisol in there?" he asked, grinning. Abuela threw her hands up in the air.  
"_Jesus Christos! _I'm too old for this running about!" she exclaimed, picking up her knitting and clacking away with the needles furiously. He winced again, remembering what Hector had said to him no more than an hour before. He could tell they were close, they used the same words. He knocked gently on the door, looking in and seeing Chicha fussing with herself.  
"'Ello, luv," he said, coming the rest of the way in, "I've come, as you so kindly requested." She grabbed his hand, dragging him out of the house.  
"Let's go out for dinner. I'm buying," she said, glancing over at Abuela, "I need to get out."  
"A'ight luv," he replied, opening her door for her, "Your carriage, m'lady."

They devoured the takeout meal with gusto, neither speaking until they had finished eating. Finally, Chicha broke the silence.  
"So, who's Hector?" she asked, wiping her mouth with a napkin. Jack rubbed the back of his neck again, looking for how to explain Hector without scaring her off.  
"'Ector is a friend...I've known 'im since I was young. 'E got me into the business," he replied, reaching for a bottle under his seat.  
"Abuela knows him. Is that how you met Marisol and Abuela?" she glanced down, her eyebrows quirking, "What are you doing?" He finally pulled out the bottle of rum, twisting off the cap and taking a long swallow.  
"Yeah," he replied, "'Ector knew Connie from long time ago; 'e was the one 'o brought Mari in as a go between. Well, the older foremen 'o knew 'im retired an 'e needed someone else to bring Mari the work. So 'e sent me." Chicha nodded, sipping her drink.  
"Why dreadlocks?" she asked, gesturing to his well-kept dreads. He laughed, touching them.  
"Each one is for a battle, as I call em," he said, "First dread I ever 'ad was from when I ran away from 'ome. First battle I ever won. Then the others are busts, hard jobs, personal battles." She reached out, touching one pulled back portion of soft, clean hair.  
"Why not dread this one?" she asked.  
"That one is bein saved for the 'ardest battle of all," he replied cryptically. She didn't press him any further, falling silent.  
"Wot about you?" he asked, "Why come to 'ere? 'Ave you seen any battles?" She laughed bitterly.  
"I was a foolish girl. I ran away from a father who loved me for a man who I thought loved me," she said, shaking her head, "Battles? Oh, my life is a battlefield. You could say every strand of hair on my head was a battle." He nodded, keeping quiet. He was intrigued and wanted her to continue.  
"When I saw Marisol's face after 16 hours in that damn truck, I had never been so relieved in my life. I love her, like a sister. She helped me so much..."  
"Mari is a good woman," he replied.  
"You think so?" she asked, "I know she's slept with you." He blinked, looking over at her.  
"'Ow do you know that?" he asked.  
"She told me."  
"Oh." She looked at him with a smirk on her face.  
"I also know about Hector," she teased.  
"Wot about 'im?" he asked, still feigning ignorance.  
"Oh don't do that. I know you're lovers," she replied, rolling her eyes. He blinked again, looking at her incredulously.  
"And you're okay with that?" he asked.  
"Of course. I actually find it attractive. A man who can recognize his needs despite their taboo nature is hot," she said, winking at him.  
This girl would never cease to amaze him. Never.  
Hector would like this one.


	4. The Little Things Give You Away

He rumbled up to Marisol's front porch, unsure of what to say. They had talked the entire time, watching the sky as it faded from blue to vivid hues of pink, red, and purple. He looked over at her, enjoying the look of simple pleasure on her face as the cool air whipped her hair about. He put the old truck into park, looking at her.  
"We're 'ere," he said, not looking entirely eager for her to go. She nodded, her mood suddenly subdued.  
"Yup," she replied, looking out the window. He rubbed his hands together, unsure of what to do.  
_Wot would 'Ector do? Why are you even asking yourself that, you lummox? 'Ector wouldn't even be 'ere. 'Ector wouldn't even wonder. Damn 'im. Bloody git.  
_He reached out, grasping her hand and lifting it to his lips. He kissed her hand gently, looking at her while doing so.  
"I've 'ad a good time tonight," he said, his thumb running gently over the back of her hand. She blushed, looking entirely flustered. He smiled.  
"M-m-me too," she stuttered, reaching for the door handle. She snapped the door open, running from the truck, past Marisol and into the house. Marisol looked from the door to him, then back to the door before sauntering over. She leaned in the window, her expression calm, until she reached out and smacked him across the head.  
"You ass!" she exclaimed, "What did you do?" She raised her hand to smack him again, making him lean away from her.  
"Damn you, Mari! Quit smacking me!" he yelled, sitting up straight, "I didn't do anything. Everything was fine until I brought her home. It's probably your fault."  
"Not a chance, Sparrow!" she replied, her hands planted on her hips. They both heard a slam, looking to see where it came from. They watched as Chicha ran back across the porch and to the side of the truck, still looking flustered. She nudged Marisol out of the way, coming face to face with him.  
"I forgot something," she said breathlessly.  
"Wot?" he asked, looking a bit puzzled. Before he could think, her lips were against his. They were warm and soft, molding perfectly to his own. He felt tingles run down his spine.  
_Just from a closed mouth kiss? I'm in over my head._  
She pulled back, her eyes fluttering open again and her expression dazed.  
"I..." she bit her lip, looking a bit embarrassed, "Well, goodnight." She turned on her heel, running quickly back to the house. He looked over at Marisol, a surge of satisfaction running through him as he took in her wide eyed, dropped jaw expression.  
"See?" he said, waving in the direction Chicha ran, "I told you it went fine." She moved in again, smacking his arm.  
"She's married," she hissed.  
"Doesn't matter to me," he replied, shrugging, "Or 'er for that matter. Wot's with you anyway? You were the one 'o pushed 'er to get to know me." Marisol shook her head, looking at the sky.  
"You don't understand. He's right there," she said, pointing. He glanced out the passenger window, noticing a burly man with his arms folded, leaning against a house not more than 100 yards away.  
"'e's not so big," Jack said, shrugging, "An wot's it 'is business if I took 'er out to dinner? 'E should've 'eld onto 'er." Marisol smacked her forehead, leaning in close to his face.  
"You listen to me," she hissed, jabbing her finger in his chest, "And you listen good, Jack Sparrow. You could have just caused a world of trouble for her, so if you plan to fuck her and leave her- don't ever come back. For any reason," she paused, looking at him intensely, "But if you decide to be a decent man- and I know you have it in you, don't act like you don't- you need to stick with her like glue. You got me?"  
Jack didn't answer right away, thinking heavily. She was asking from him a kind of commitment that he had never even imagined making. Hector and him had an open relationship with more escape hatches than they had good qualities combined. He had never even had the urge to settle down with a woman before. Could he honestly say that after 3 months of following- stalking, he admitted with an internal cringe- two conversations, and one date...that he was ready for such a commitment? His knee-jerk reaction was no. Run the fuck away as fast as possible. But as he continued to think about it, his heart began to beg him to agree. Just try it. Just try.  
"Alright," he sighed, his shoulders slumping, "You win."  
"Promise," she demanded. He looked at her, half irritated and half bemused.  
"You want the promise of a dishonest man," he replied, "Well, alright then." She reached out, shaking his hand.  
"You know, someone once told me that you can always trust a dishonest man to be dishonest- but an honest man was always unpredictable because you never knew when he would do something stupid," she said, "And I've found that you are entirely unpredictable. So, are you really so dishonest?" He pulled his hand back in the window, shaking his head.  
"I've gotta go," he said, turning the key and shifting to drive, "Quit thinking so much, Marisol. People will start thinking there's more to you than a pretty face."  
"I wouldn't want that," she yelled over the rumble of the engine, laughing. He flashed her a grin and floored the gas, kicking up dust and gravel as he passed Pacha.  
"Fat Bastard," he chuckled, not even looking back.


	5. Never Again

"So, Jack Sparrow thinks he's fooled me again, does he?" Cutler Beckett mused, his fingers steepling beneath his chin, "How moronic." He glanced at the older man in front of him, one Police Chief James Norrington, "You're sure he's back in California?"  
"To be frank, the Texas story was a bit far fetched, if you don't mind me saying sir," James replied, looking a bit irritated, "We stretched our forces too thin- sent them on a wild goose chase."  
"I didn't ask for your opinion," Beckett said, looking out the window, "I asked if you were sure he was back in California."  
"He is," James replied through gritted teeth, "Our source is quite reliable." Beckett nodded, thinking hard. Six months wasted, but no matter. All battles must have a victor...and while Sparrow had won this battle, he would not win the war.  
"Who do you have on this case?" he asked, turning in his chair to face Norrington.  
"I have my best investigators and officers on this case," he said.  
"How many and what are their names?" he demanded in a soft tone, "I want to keep tabs on them."  
"That won't be necessary, sir," Norrington insisted.  
"Yet again, you are giving me opinions when they weren't asked for," he said with considerable irritation, "Now, their names." James looked completely calm, but felt his stomach twist and turn.  
"Officers Mulan Fa, Hank "Hercules" Palmer, Merida Wallace and Phil Fauno. Each brings a quality to the case that is completely necessary. Fauno has been on this case since Basil Baker's time; he knows this case inside and out. Hercules has the strength and drive to take down these dirty bastards, Mulan has the analytical mind to pick through every shred of information and evidence, and Wallace is new, but brings a fresh set of eyes and a more creative point of view." Cutler didn't speak, taking in the new information while nodding.  
"Do we have the DA?" he asked, still working out the odds.  
"Philip Jensen is too much of a believer in "Innocent until proven guilty". He doesn't exactly have the bloodlust we need."  
"Who takes his place and how soon?" he inquired.  
"A young woman from internal affairs, Pocahontas Powhatan. Now...she has the bloodlust and drive. Unfortunately, he won't be retiring for another year or so yet."  
"He's retiring young," he said, thinking, "Won't he only be 42?"  
"Yes, but this town will wear you out," Norrington said, running his fingers through his hair, "I've only been on the force 10 years and I wish I could retire." He looked at the man before him, waving him off.  
"Next week, I want Sparrow's location," he said, "No exceptions."  
_

"Alright, boys and girls," Norrington said loudly, dropping a large case of files on the table, "I hope none of you plan on having lives because your schedule is now cleared. You have no other cases, no other purpose, than The Account." The four officers looked up at him, all unamused.  
"Well Chief, I hate to point this out, "Phil said from one corner, "But we didn't exactly have a damn life before this." The rest of them nodded, looking slightly irritated.  
"Thank you Phil," Norrington said sharply, "You've been chosen for this task force for a reason- you all possess qualities we need to catch these bastards. So buckle down and get this shit done." Mulan raised a hand, looking at James sharply. He nodded, gesturing for her to say what was on her mind.  
"Chief, I've studied these files forwards and backwards," she said, "And I've gotta be honest- we have vicious murderers and rapists running the streets, we had 4 children missing in the past month alone, and gang violence is on the rise. But we're going after a group of people who, from what I've seen for most of them, are guilty of mostly misdemeanors. Granted, who we've got named as ring leaders have felonies as long as my arm, but half of these have a statute of limitations- and most of them we run into the danger of double jeopardy."  
"We have to at least try," Hercules said, slamming his fist down, "These people are scum, and they need to be stopped."  
"I agree with Herc," Merida pipped up, "These people are just as much a cause of worry for us as anyone else." Phil dug his heels in, folding his arms.  
"Lonny has a point," he said, jerking his head over to Mulan, "These bastards are almost untouchable. But Merry has a point too- they probably are training the new generation of criminals that we're now seeing."  
"I'm sorry to say," Norrington said, slapping his palms on the table, "But you don't have a choice- no matter how you feel about it. You all swore an oath to this city and it's citizens, to protect them. Anyone who doesn't feel like they can handle this can leave now." He paused for a moment, looking at each of their somber faces. When no one moved, he spoke again.  
"Good. look over what we have here and take an early night. Everyone is to be back in this room at 8:00 tomorrow for a deeper briefing." He turned, grasping the door handle and turning.  
"By the way," he added, "You're my best. This case can make a career." He closed the door quietly, leaving them all with that thought.

After a few minutes of silence, Phil stretched and yawned.  
"Aight," he said, grabbing the box, "Me and Herc will go through this half, Lonny and Merry go through that half," he looked over at Hank, and eyebrow quirked, "That good with you, Kid?" Hank nodded, settling so he was comfortable. He looked over at the two women, grinning. "What about you wonder twins? That sound good?" Mulan snorted while Merida eagerly nodded.  
_

Phil Fauno was probably the oldest man on the police force at the moment. He had 40 years tucked safely in his belt, and he had a reputation for getting hard jobs done. He'd only run into two cases he couldn't solve- and he swore to himself he'd never let it happen again. He poured himself a cup of coffee, dumping the cheap powdered creamer in without hesitation.  
Phil's full name was Philatetes, Greek. He had been raised on mythology and it showed. He had 4 partners in the past years, and each one he had given the nickname of a Greek hero. Pierce "Persius" Calloway, Andrew "Achillies" Hoffman, and Harold "Hector" Bublonski. And Hank.  
Phil drank the scalding coffee, thinking of Andrew. He cursed the kid early with a name like fucking Achillies- he should've thought of a better name. But Achillies fit him to a tee. The kid had all the strength and courage that a decent cop needed, but his instincts were way off. Phil winced, thinking of Herc. Herc had the same problem.

Phil, for the first time in 7 years, called in sick the day it happened. He had what he had nicknamed the Sleeping Death; he could only keep his eyes open long enough to throw up, take a piss, and crawl miserably back into bed. He called the station, telling them he wouldn't be in.  
"Tell Achillies not to follow up on that lead until I get back tomorrow, alright? It's damn important."  
The desk secretary promised to tell him, telling Phil to rest and that they would put Achillies on beat for the day. Phil crawled beneath the covers, falling asleep with the desperate hope that his hot shot young partner would keep his head on straight and just do the beat.

He was awoken by a call no more than 2 hours later, the secretary tearfully asking him to come in, that it was an emergency. He felt a cold pain in his chest- something was wrong. He threw on his clothes and got down to the precinct in record time. He burst through the doors, looking around frantically.  
"Where's Achillies?" he demanded, his eyes wild with panic. Police Chief Fflam shook his head sadly, guiding him into his office. Phil sat, overwhelming dread filling his core.

"Fflam, what is it?" he demanded, "You just gotta tell me. I can't take this." Fflam poured a shot of whiskey for himself, then gestured for Phil. He nodded, throwing back the burning liquid with appreciation. Fflam rubbed his temple, pouring another shot.  
"Your rookie," he began, "We put him on a street beat. Figured he'd scare off the riffraff on the west side. He was in the car and he saw something shady happening in a back alleyway. Went to take a look, called it in." Fflam paused, taking a deep breath, "Those bastards shot him in the foot, hoping to immobilize him so they could get away; but Andrew...he fired at them. You know how he was- nothing could stop him if he set that hard head of his to something. They shot him, killed him." Phil felt his world spinning.  
"How do you know he's dead? Chest wounds are funny, so are stomach ones- if you got him to the best doctors around, I'm sure-" He was cut off by Fflam's sad shaking of his head.  
"Phil, they shot the kid in the head," he said, "It's days like these that I thank God I'm up for retirement in a few years." Phil didn't move. He couldn't even breathe.  
"So that's it, huh?" Phil said, standing, "My boy is dead. Who's telling his mother? I feel sorry for that poor bastard."  
"We felt...it would be better coming from you," Fflam replied, "You knew Andrew and his family better than anyone. Kid was like a son to you."  
"Thanks for rubbing salt in that very open wound," Phil grunted, reaching for the handle, "Damn you Fflam. Damn you for making me do this, you old buzzard."

Phil had spent the next year trying to track down the slimy little fucks that killed his partner, barely sleeping and obsessing over every detail. Nothing made sense, every lead hit a brick wall, every trail fizzled out. It was a cold case. Hank wouldn't fall victim to that. Not on his fucking watch.  
He would take down these "Account" bastards to keep his partner and their colleagues safe. He wasn't losing another Achillies.


	6. 99 Problems

"I need a drink," Jack mumbled, trudging wearily through the doorway. Hector looked up from the book he was reading, his eyebrow quirked.  
"Didn't go well, Jackie?" he asked, smirking. Jack threw him a venomous look, stomping into the kitchen.  
"Went fine," he mumbled, digging around and clanking empty bottles together in his search, "'Ector, why is the rum gone?" Hector rolled his eyes, returning his gaze to the book.  
"Rum will always be gone when ye need it most," he replied, thumbing to the next page, "Got a new job for ye." Jack sat down on the couch, looking eager.  
"A job, eh?" he asked, leaning forward, "Good. It's been a month since anyone 'as given me work. Tell me about it."  
Hector set down his book, rubbing his temples.  
"Jack," he drawled, "What are ye doin?"  
"Wot do you mean?" he demanded, looking at the older man guilitly. Hector Barbossa was usually a man of few words when it come to anything troubling in his own or Jack's personal lives. If he brought it up, that meant that it was either noticable enough or serious enough to concern him.  
"I mean," he started, "I haven't seen ye actin this bloody stupid since Angelica. And ye were actin impressively moronic then."  
"Wos not!" he said quickly.  
"Then why are ye all shook up the way ye are? Ye only look for the drink when somethin be on yer mind." He looked at him hard, broching no argument. Jack sighed.  
"It's all or nothin with 'er," he said, looking at his hands, "An it's drivin me mad."  
"All or nothin, eh?" Hector nodded carefully, "And she be the one tellin ye this?"  
"No," he replied, "'er friend did."  
"Then what be ye bellyachin about?" he demanded, "If she ain't been tellin ye it then it shouldn't be a thought in that empty head of yers. Now pick that sorry ass of yers up on that couch. Meetin tonight."

-

The Court of Miracles was not a court and the only miracle that took place there was the miracle of it not getting busted by the ever diligent police. Clopin Troufiellou was known and hated by every cop, DA, and judge in the state of California because of his innate ability to always leave a sticky situation with his nose clean. It took talent being that sneaky. Clopin's club was run by his youngest sister, Esmeralda, who also had his abilities to always come up clean- especially in their finances. How she did it was unknown to everyone- even Clopin- with the amount of money they cleaned up for their comrades. The Court of Miracles wasn't a shady place, at least to the public. It was a run of the mill stripclub to the public eye, but underneath it was the very heart of The Account. Jobs were given there. Deals were made, trades were done, and dirty money would always be made spotless if it entered their doors. They sat down at the bar, Hector waving over the bartender.  
"The usual poison, lassie," he said, "Leave the bottle."  
"Do you plan on paying this time?" Esmeralda demanded from behind them, her arms folded over her chest, "You realize that a tab is intended for people who actually pay."  
"I plan on it eventually, lassie," Hector replied, "Have to pay for yer college education somehow, aye?" Esmeralda rolled her eyes, her exasperation apparent. She always hated the cracks on her degree in accounting. If she hadn't been so good with numbers, she would have been a social worker like many of her more reputable friends. As far as they knew, she worked at an uptown accounting firm making beucoup bucks for easy work; but her heart had always been in more noble causes.  
"There's nothing more noble than the cause for The Account," Clopin always told her, but it was always very clear that she had other ideas of nobility.  
The club filled with the low bass beats of some unknown techno song that Clopin was so fond of, a girl moving out on the stage and dancing seductively. Hector glanced around the club, pointing to a boy in front of the stage.  
"A bit young to be watchin the ladies, isn't he?" he asked, drinking the smooth alcohol in a quick gulp. Esmeralda cursed under her breath, jabing one of the buttons on her headset with ferocity.  
"Quasi," she hissed, "Underager, 12:00. See that he gets outta here."  
They watched as the large bouncer lumbered over, leaning down to the boy's level.  
"You're a bit too young for this, aren't you?" he asked, "I'm afraid you'll have to go." The scrappy boy looked up at him defiantly, folding his arms.  
"Go on. Another year or so and I'll let you stay," he said, hauling the boy to his feet and taking him to the door. The boy struggled half-heartedly, the promise of access when he was a bit older just too tempting for him to really fight. They returned their gazes back to their drinks, the fun over.  
"Too nice, 'e is," Jack mumbled, draining his glass and pouring himself another. Hector shrugged, glancing over to the back table.  
"Looks like Mad Milly and Clopin are rowing again," he said, gesturing over at the two, "Fools, they are."  
Clopin and "Mad Madame" Milly Mim had been together on again, off again for as long as anyone could remember; but it seemed as ridiculous as their personalities. While Clopin owned The Court of Miracles, she owned a large whorehouse just down the road- most of his dancers got off work at The Court and climbed into bed with waiting Johns at Mad Milly's. They brought each other business, but they were always trying to steal each other's girls. Often their fights would escalate to things being thrown at each other shortly before they fell on the floor kissing each other. Sheer madness. But what did you expect?  
They appeared to be arguing once again, but their conversation was considerably subdued compared to their usual rows. Jack quirked an eyebrow. If Clopin and Mad Milly weren't yelling, then something serious was up.  
With a glance at his pocket watch, Hector stood and headed for the back room, Jack following in his wake as if in a trance.  
"Get yer head on straight, boy," he hissed, "Look sharp for business."  
They settled at the large table, watching as everyone else took their seats.  
Genie Anders sat down, noticeably the largest man in the room. He could have easily been one of their main "muscles", but the man was a genius when it came to computers and planning. Brains that weren't addled by madness or chemicals were hard to come by in the business, and Genie had more value as a brain than as brawn.  
Next to him sat his good friend Cassim, their most talented thief. Cassim was an older man of average height and physical constitution, but he was quicker and lighter than a man half his size and age. Talk on the street was that Cassim could steal your wallet, rings and shoes without you even knowing until he was long gone- and he left not a trace of his presence. He ran a gang of forty other thieves that he had personally trained, and they were the bane of every wealthy man's existence. They had a terrible habit of robbing the rich to feed the poor, but not without taking a 50% profit. No one knew Cassim's last name, or if Cassim was really his name. He liked to keep his anonymity.  
Clopin and Mad Milly entered, still involved in a very tense exchange. Jack felt an unscratchable itch to know what they were talking about- but he knew he'd have to wait.  
All conversation hushed as the man they were all waiting for swept into the room.  
"Professor" Rattigan was an imposing man, a legend. He had started the Account along with Jack's own father and a few first generation criminals, originally using at as loose brotherhood between friends. Since then it had evolved into a secret society, only penetrable by existing members. Rattigan's dark hair was slicked back perfectly, not a seam out of place on his expensive suit. He was the quintessential gangster, as if he had stepped out of a photograph from the 20's. He had a larger than life aura to him, even amongst this intimate group. Next to him was his right hand man, "Fidget" Oroson, a short man with a bum leg and a queer way of speaking. It was as if he couldn't actually finish a thought or sentence verbally, despite his quickness of mind. His cabbie cap was always pulled down over his eyes, his scarf as usual tied securely around his neck. You never saw Rattigan without Fidget, and you never saw Fidget without that cap and scarf.  
Rattigan seated himself, looking over the group.

"Well, first order of business is the sudden interest the police have in us," he began, looking directly at Jack, "Some of us lack discretion, and now all of us are paying."  
"Five of my girls were picked up in the past three days!" Mad Milly yelled, pointing a long finger at Jack, "You owe me for them!" Rattigan held up a hand to silence Milly, making her sit once more.  
"We cannot give our dear Mr. Sparrow all the credit," he continued, "We have all gotten a bit sloppy. But yes, Jack is the catalyst."  
"Am not!" Jack exclaimed, standing up, "'ave I possibly offended persons of considerable wealth an power? Per'aps. But, 'aven't we all?" He looked around the room, "We 'ave reached a point where the police believe that they can no longer ignore us when they felt jolly good to ignore us before. Is that our fault? O'corse not. So one can only assume that someone- or something- outside of of the police force is interested in us. Why? Be'cos they're a slimy git 'o likes to ruin e'rryone else's fun. Proffessor, is it not so that you have a police informer?  
"Indeed," he replied.  
"And wot does our little mole say about wot the police know about us?"  
They don't know anything new about us," he said, his hand going to his chin.  
"Precisely. Wot we must do now is continue bein untraceable. An we are so very good at that, aren't we?" he walked around the table, placing his hands on Milly's shoulders, "I, for one, would be terribly pained to see our dear friends slowly spirited away to where all baddies go when caught by L.A's finest."  
Rattigan snapped his fingers.  
"Fidget," he said, waiting the man over.  
"Boss?" he replied in his deep gravelly voice.  
"List of things to do this week. Retrieve what little information the police have on us, plant a false lead, and get a new shipment of weapons. Not for selling."  
"Get papers, lie to police, get guns. Big guns. No selling," he repeated before hobbling away. He returned his focus to the table, smiling easily.  
"The cogs are in motion, and the game is afoot," he said in a satisfied tone, "Now, second order- jobs. Genie? If you would."

"We have every job imaginable at the moment- I have your assignments right here," he said, leafing through a large folder, "Milly, we'll start with you, since you lost your girls this week. We have a few immigrant girls who need integrated into society. They are now your responsibility," he said grinning. Among drug and weapon smuggling, The Account had a hand in smuggling illegal aliens. Many of these people came from squalor is Barbados, Cuba, Mexico, and South America; especially women. They were not lied to- they knew their work would be illegal and unsavory, but compared to what they had it was a luxurious life. The girls usually went to Milly or Clopin; despite their business in pleasure, they genuinely cared for their workers and would help them learn English and anything else they needed. Many of the girls adored their employers and didn't leave even when they had the means to- and that was the intent. Milly smiled, nodding.  
"You bring them to me whenever you like," she said warmly, holding her hand out for their folder. Genie passed it to her, picking up the next folder.  
"Clopin," Genie started, "We have a new shipment of various toys. You're our best distributor. We need these guns out of the storehouse by the end of the week. Can you handle that?" Clopin plucked the folder out of his hand.  
"My dear friend, you are talking to me," he said, thumbing through the pages, "I can empty you in 36 hours. No problem." Genie nodded, handing Cassim a folder.  
"We already talked about this one," he said, "Sensitive stuff, Cassim. It needs a gentle touch." Cassim gave him a curt nod.  
"Nothing I haven't done before," he said, "It'll be my top priority."

Genie picked up the last folder, looking at Jack and Hector.  
"We have a load of snow and green we need distributed to our dealers," he said, "Tia Dalma needs a kilo of green and two kilos of snow. Hector, it's your responsibility to get it to her. Jack, you'll be delivering to Marisol and Medusa. You'll need a go between for Medusa. Have anyone in mind?" Jack thought hard, drawing a blank.  
"Jackie has met a girl who'd be perfect for the job," he said, "Didn't ye Jack?" Jack looked at him, confused. What was he getting at?  
Suddenly a light went on his mind. Hector meant Chicha. Could he really drag her into this? Marisol had told him it was all or nothing with her...if she wanted it all, she could have it.  
"Aye," he replied, nodding, "Clean as the driven snow, unsuspicious as a baby rabbit, perfect for the job should she be so willing. " Genie nodded, handing them the folder.  
All or nothing.


	7. Welcome To Paradise

"Oh no Jack," Marisol exclaimed, "When I said all or nothing, that's NOT what I meant!" Jack looked at her skeptically.  
"Mari, you're not makin any sense at all. You tell me, "All or Nothin", so I'm goin all or nothin," he replied. She rubbed her temples, looking at him angrily.  
"Are you still hellbent on destroying every chance you have? You have a chance with a good woman- a women who isn't part of that world at all, and you want to drag her into it."  
"You are just as much to blame as me," he said, "Should've never introduced us if you didn't intend on bringin her into this. As I see it, you're more to blame than me- wot did I do but show up?"  
"Boy has a point, lassie," Hector added, shrugging.  
"Oh, shut UP Uncle Hector!" Marisol hissed, "She doesn't need to be in this."

"Into what?" Chicha asked, looking arounnd at the arguing faces. They all stopped, eyeing her carefully. Hector stepped forward, circling her critically.  
"Prettier than I imagined," he grunted, "Looks innocent, she does. She be perfect." She cringed away from Hector, looking confused.  
"Jack...?" she asked.  
"All or nothin, luv," he said.  
"What does that entail exactly?" she asked.  
"We be what ye'd call, "Modern Pirates"," Hector said, "We be procuers of items of value. We procure em, sell em, and turn a profit."  
"And wot dear 'Ector is neglecting to say out loud is that these items are guns, drugs, an things of a generally unsavory and illegal nature, savvy?" he said, "So if you don't want to luv, understandable. We'll just be on our way, goodbye forever and no need for any commitment whatsoever." He turned, reaching for his coat, but was stopped by a firm grip on his arm.  
"So that's it? You'd just walk away? Damn you," she said, looking at Hector, "I'm in. Mari, don't even try arguing. You knew this would happen." Jack blinked, suprised. It was not the response he expected.  
"I'll be damned," he said in his shock.  
"With our luck, ye very well may be," Hector said with a girn.  
"You'll destroy her," Marisol hissed.  
"You are giving me entirely too much credit luv," he said, pulling Chicha in by her waist.  
"Don't be temptin fate, Jackie," Hector warned, "She be a three titted witch, ye know that." Chicha pulledhim down to her level, kissing him hard.  
"Don't you abandon me," she told him, "You're stuck with me now."


	8. Rabbit Heart

Mulan rubbed her eyes, her exhaustion getting to her. No matter how many times she looked at the information, nothing added up.  
"What are you up to?" she muttered, looking hard at the picture of Jack Sparrow on the table. Every member of The Account had a long rap sheet, but it was odd...they didn't exactly make sense.  
A perfect example was Jack. They suspected him of being a drug runner, and he had charges brought against him for possession; but just a year ago he was arrested for beating the living daylights out of a drug dealer who was selling on playgrounds to kids. As she looked through his rap sheet, he was rarely convicted, but the charges were always contradictory. Suspected of assaulting a woman, aquitted by hung jury of assault with a deadly weapon when he shot a known woman beater in the leg after he put his wife in the hospital. Contradictory.  
No one else was any better. "Mad Madame" Milly Mim was a pimp, but every one of the girls they had picked up of hers were well fed, healthy and clean. Same went for Clopin Troufiellou's girls. And when offered money and asylum for turning on their bosses, they refused to speak. Their loyalty stemmed from respect, not fear.  
She didn't know what to make of it. It was as if they were...clean criminals. They did bad things, but they had standards. The Account had no ties to criminals who dealt to children, were involved in senseless violence, or violated the basic human rights of others. In fact, many of the convictions she was looking at from them were for the murder or assault of known criminals- ones who committed disgusting atrocities. Genie Anders served 5 years reduced sentence for killing a man who had been involved in a child pornography ring. He claimed self defense, despite overwhelming evidence that he went in, guns blazing. He took a plea offered by the DA, one with a grossly reduced sentence.  
It made no sense.  
"There's something missing," she muttered, taking a swallow of now-cold coffee, "Why are we so interested in you now?"  
"Hey bosslady," Merida said from the doorway, "Are you still staring at those papers?"  
"Yeah," she replied, "It doesn't make sense." Merida nodded, handing her a fresh cup of coffee.  
"It's their rap sheets, isn't it?" Merida asked, her bush red hair tossing, "Baffled me too. It's like their vigilantes."  
"That's exactly it," Mulan replied, "And up until last year, we were giving them amnesty. Reduced sentences, hung jurys, charges that mysteriously disappeared...I mean, goddamnit, we have a Nollo Prosequi for vehicular homicide! But now, we suddenly are going after them."  
"I was bothered by that too. Maybe someone high up finally took an interest?"  
"Or someone has been bought," she muttered, "It'd be a good time for someone with money to get their fingers in the force. We have a new judge, and we have a new DA comming up who wants to make a name for herself- but who is it?"  
"A conspiracy?" Merida asked, leaning forward interestedly.  
"I don't know," she mumured, "But keep it in the back of your mind."


	9. Girl With Golden Eyes

"You did great, luv," Jack said, leaning over and kissing Chicha on the cheek, "You're a natural." Chicha blushed, smiling. It wasn't hard- all she had to do was take a bag into Medusa's home and collect an envelope from the terrifying woman. Easy work, but Jack couldn't do it. Medusa and Jack had some sort of hatred of each other that she didn't understand. He cupped her cheek gently, a sense of overwhelming pride in his chest. She had proven Hector wrong, she had blown his own expectations out of the water. She was impressive. His hand wandered down her neck, tracing the gentle curve of her collarbone. Touching her soft, warm skin sent electrical shocks through his body, her eyes focused on him. He looked up at her, seeing the silent dare in her eyes.  
His finger traced her breast inside the light cotton of her dress, watching as her breath hitched, giving a slight quiver to her body. She slid closer to him, straddling his lap and kissing him passionately. He was taken aback, pushed against the seat of the truck by her eagerness.  
"Slow down, luv," he chuckled, gently stroking her thigh. She shook her head.  
"I don't want to," she replied, her fingers weaving in his hair, her nails grazing his scalp. Her lips pressed against his ear, making his breath stifle before he sat up straight, holding her back from him.  
"No, no no no," he said, waving a finger in her face, "No. Not good." She looked at him, confused.  
"What are you talking about?" she asked.  
"Not good," he said again, "I am a man of few morals. Dishonesty is my trademark."  
"And?" she demanded.  
"I..." he pressed his fist to his mouth, biting hard, "I sleep with 'Ector."  
"And?" She demanded again.  
"You aren't understanding wot I'm saying," he sigh exasperatedly, "I've walked this path before. You're not the first girl I've gotten in way over 'er 'ead." She sat back, folding her arms.  
"Do you really think you're so charming that I don't know what I've gotten into?" she said, opening the door to the truck, "Really, you are the worst."  
"Exactly!" he exclaimed, "Precisely why you should jump ship, run off and pretend you've never met me!" She slapped him hard, climbing out of the truck and slamming the door behind her before stomping down the road.  
"I deserved that," he muttered, climbing out and going after her, "Chicha, wait!" She stopped, whirling around to face him.  
"No!" she yelled, pushing him, "You speak so beguilingly of how you care for things, how you care for me; and then you shove me away! You and Hector are perfectly matched, eternal liars to yourselves!"  
"Now 'old on-"  
"You're on your own, Jack!" she hissed, "And you have no one to blame but that sparrow heart of yours, flitting about without a care for the hearts of others!" She turned and stomped away, leaving Jack standing on the sidewalk in a daze.  
"Not good," he said, "Definitely not good."

He sat in the bar, clinging to a bottle of rum like a lifeline.  
"Drunk," he mumbled, "Drunk again."  
"Jack?"  
He lifted his head to see an old friend lumbering towards him.  
"Jack, that be you?"  
Joshamee Gibbs came into his sight, as welcome a friend as ever.  
"Ahh, Mr. Gibbs," he said, sitting up and waving him over with the bottle, "Come. Drink. Forget with me."  
"I haven't seen you this drunk since..." Gibbs paused, looking worried.  
"She wos a creature undefinable," he said, "A girl. Female. A person of the feminine persuasion. One in possession of the wiles of the opposite sex."  
"Of course," he said, shaking his head.  
"And I may have...perhaps, had some sort of..." he stopped again, pressing a fist to his mouth.  
"What?" Gibbs demanded.  
"Attachment to her," he finished, taking a long drink.  
"Another Angelica, aye?" Gibbs asked, ordering a drink for himself.  
"Absolutely not!" Jack exclaimed, "This...attachment...is of a much more definite nature."  
"So you love her."  
"Do not!" Jack argued.  
"So what did you do this time?" Gibbs asked, taking a sip of his own drink, "Push her away like you do with every other one?"  
"Thank you, Mr. Gibbs. You are, as always, so tactful." Gibbs shrugged, looking at the bottle in Jack's hand.  
"That'll do you no good," he said, "Drinking the way you are."  
"I can 'ope that it does," Jack replied.  
"Jack, anyone can drink."  
"Few can match my determination, Master Gibbs."  
"What would she think if she saw you this way?" Gibbs asked. Jack stopped, his eyes closing. She'd be angry. Disappointed. She'd probably wring his neck.  
"She would redefine the meaning of the word "pain", I should think," he said, "Insides would become outsides. Pain. Lots of pain."

"Precisely."

Both men turned to see Hector standing behind them, looking none to amused.  
"Jack, get up now," he said.  
"No," Jack said, looking up at the man defiantly, "I'm quite comfortable right here." Hector nodded.  
"Ahh," he said, circling Jack's stool, "I see ye have mistaken an order for a request. Allow me the chance to rephrase." He leaned down next to Jack's ear, lifting some of the long dreads away from it before yelling, "UP OFF YER ARSE, YOU SACK OF RUM!" Jack lept to his feet, standing at attention automatically.  
"Aye sir!" he said, before stopping and looking confused, "Wait."  
"Jack, ye be a fool, a damnable fool," Hector began, circling him once more, "Ye find yerself a good woman, nay, a woman as bad as ye, to be more accurate, and ye chase the lass off. Even I am not so much a fool to do something like that."  
"'ector," Jack whispered, "And forgive me if I am wrong, but did you not do the very same thing some ten years ago."  
"Indeed," he said, "Which is why I be hard pressed if I'll let you do the same. Savvy, Boy?"  
"Not quite, but close enough," he responded, "So wot would you 'ave me do?"


	10. Better Than Me

"I feel like a man who has been squashed repeatedly by a very big boot," Jack mumbled.  
"That's the point, Jack," Hector replied, "Now go on and do what I told ye to do."  
Jack glared at the older man before walking across the dusty drive, standing on the porch. He raised a fist to knock, but not before coming nose to barrel with a large shotgun. "Hector, get him off my porch now," Abuela yelled, "Or so help me, I'll be the oldest woman convicted of murder in California!"  
"Consuela, lass, give the boy a chance to speak," Hector said, running up onto the porch, "He wants to talk to the girl." Abuela squinted at Hector, cocking the gun.  
"He gets my girls involved in that business of yours, then he chases her off by actin like a fool, and you're asking me to let him speak? I'm old Hector, not loco."  
"For old times, Connie m'dear," he asked, placing his hand on the barrel. Abuela lowered the gun, hobbling closer to Jack.  
"Lean down," she demanded, beckoning him down. He bent down, and before he knew it, she had him by the ear and drug him in the house.  
"Connie, let go of me ear! You're gonna tear it off! Connie! You are entirely to strong for an old woman!" he protested as she drug him to the bedroom door. She knocked, and they listened as Chicha padded across the room and cracked the door open.  
"I don't want to talk to him," she said, one teary eye visible in the crack.  
"Chicha, open this door now," Abuela said, "I about shot the man in the head and he didn't run, that warrants a minute of your time."  
She opened the door, and her unhappiness hit him like a blow to the gut. He did that. He had caused that upset on her face, the way her shoulders hunched. Abuela released his ear, and without a second thought, he enveloped her in a tight embrace.  
"I'm sorry, luv," he said, kissing the crown of her head, "I wos wrong. "  
"You idiot," she mumbled into his chest, "I love you. You don't have to be caged by it...just accept it."  
His heart stopped as what she said sunk in. That was precisely what he was so afraid of, the ball and chain that he felt love could be. Here she was, telling him that she accepted him for who he was, unjudging and uninterested in changing him. That was real love. It tasted of freedom.  
"I..." he swallowed hard, trying to let the words leave his mouth, "I love you too."

It had been a few months since he had openly admitted to loving Chicha, and they had settled into a somewhat domesticated life. She had moved in with him and Hector; and the apartment that had only smelled like stale cigarettes and booze suddenly had homey smells in it- cooking food, her perfume, clean laundry. After a few weeks, though, Hector had enough and decided to move out. It wasn't anything against them, he had claimed, he just couldn't stand the irritating sappiness about it. Jack suspected it was more that Hector could respect his love for Chicha at a distance, one where he wouldn't have to see her every waking minute of the day.  
He had expected Chicha to have a bigger problem with living with Hector, but she was surprisingly nonchalant about the whole thing. She had once asked casually over their dinner of home-cooked enchiladas if they wanted her to go out with Marisol so they could have "some time" to themselves. At that, Hector threw his napkin across the table and stormed out in a whirl of irritation, leaving Jack guffawing at the table and Chicha shrugging.  
"I just thought it'd be a good idea," she mumbled around a bite of food.  
He didn't know if she had upset Hector purposely or not...but he was still amused.  
After Hector moved out, the two still met frequently, but Jack found himself having less interest in bars and boozing and more in his girlfriend.  
Everyone in The Account had noticed his marked absence from their social events, and Rattigan took it upon himself to bring him back in the fold with an invitation for the both of them to dinner.

Chicha and Jack showed up at The Court of Miracles, slightly nervous. Rattigan and Jack always were close, since he had been a boy. His father and Rattigan were the best of friends and partners in crime, and as a boy Jack sat on Rattigan's lap as he regaled tales from his own father's days during prohibition, stories that dazzled him and made him dream of a life like his father's. Rattigan had also been his first prey when it came to various traps and pranks he wanted to try on his friends- or rather, his enemies. Rattigan would always give him tips on how to execute the trap better, what tweaks should be made, how to make it a bit nastier.  
"I love it when I'm nasty," he'd chuckle after pointing out a particularly ingenious way to rig Jack's devices. Jack's immense respect for the gangster was apparent, and he made it clear to Chicha. He was worried that his occasionally brash and always too honest girlfriend might offend his friend.

Rattigan welcomed them with an embrace, waving for them to sit. He snapped his fingers, and out rolled a feast fit for a king. He watched as the two young people ate their fill, eating slowly himself. He and Jack chatted casually about business and life in general, while Chicha sat quietly. It wasn't until Rattigan's favorite dish came out that Chicha finally spoke.  
"What is that?" she asked, her voice a mix between awe and disgust.  
"Gelatin with carrots. Quite delicious," he said, serving himself a decent amount. Chicha's nose wrinkled.  
"Delicious? Unnatural is what it is," she said, leaning away from the dish. Rattigan raised an eyebrow, taking a large bite.  
"Traditional. My own mother made it quite often," Rattigan continued, unperturbed by her retort, "One must keep their mind and taste buds open to new things, Chicha."  
"If that's traditional, can we be the most modern couple that ever lived?" she asked Jack, looking nauseated.  
"You intend to insult my mother?" Rattigan said softly, the tone dangerous.  
"Only her cooking," Chicha said, shrugging.

There was a thick silence that settled over the room as Jack's eyes darted between the two, a thousand placating things to say running through his mind. Suddenly, Rattigan let out a loud bark of a laugh.  
"I like her," he said, nodding, "She's a good one." Chicha grinned, looking at Jack proudly.  
"That she is," he said, notable relief in his voice. They continued to banter, Chicha now actively involved. The room's tone was now light and enjoyable, all of them in a comfortable chatter.  
"I think it's time for this old man to head home," Rattigan said, standing, "A pleasure seeing you both." He turned and grabbed the handle of the side door, pulling it open. Before Chicha could even open her mouth, Rattigan and his thousand dollar suit were coated from head to toe in a bucket of ice-cold water. He turned back to Jack, who was trying to hold back chuckles unsuccessfully.  
"And that, luv, is 'ow to properly drown a rat. Always knew I could build a better mousetrap," Jack said grinning.  
Rattigan pulled a gun from his coat pocket, pointing at Jack.  
"You think that's funny?" he demanded, pulling the trigger.  
Rather than the loud bang Chicha expected, she let out a thin scream of laughter as Jack's face was coated with red paint.  
"Paint," Jack said, wiping his face, "I douse you with water and you spray paint in my face. On what plane of existence in this miserable life do people put paint in guns?" Rattigan let out a loud laugh, tucking the fake gun back in his breast pocket.  
"I love it when I'm nasty," he cackled, "When will you learn that I will always one-up you? I've been doing it for years!"  
"One of these days, old man," Jack said, shaking his hand.  
"Don't hold your breath," the gangster retorted, pulling his overcoat on.


	11. Mockingbird

"Do ye see that, Jack?" Hector said from the helm of the fishing boat they were using to smuggle immigrants with, on another mission from Rattigan. Jack pulled out a spyglass, looking in the direction that Hector was pointing.  
"It's a rowboat," he said, chewing on his lip, "An one that appears to be empty. An empty rowboats are never just floating about in the water sans rowers."  
"Bringing her hard to port," he said, turning to run parallel to the small boat. They came along side it, the wake of the larger ship rocking the rowboat gently, showing a bright flash of red hair.  
"'Ector," Jack said, pointing in the boat, "Does that look like wot I think it looks like?" Hector looked over the side, seeing precisely what Jack did.  
"Appears to be a wee little lassie," he replied.  
"And wot would a wee little lassie be doin in a rowboat in the middle of international waters in the dead of night with no other ship about?" he began to mumble, "Which leads to the infinitely more pressing question of wot should we do with said little lassie who obviously is too small to fend for 'erself in the middle of said international waters with no other ship about?"  
"Jack, don't ye think we should bring the child aboard before we begin asking such questions?" Hector asked, rolling his eyes.  
"Right," he replied, "Mr. Gibbs! Gather two other men and help us pull this lifeboat- or at least it's cargo, aboard!"  
"Aye sir!" he yelled, heading below decks.

They pulled the child on board, trying still to decide what to do with her.  
"What be yer name, lassie?" Hector asked the trembling girl. She didn't answer, staring up at him fearfully. "She's a mute," he ascertained. Jack rolled his eyes, waving him aside.  
"Move," he said, "You're frightening her. I'd be scared of you too. That scraggly beard would frighten a grown man." The girl giggled at Jack's joke, covering her mouth. Jack knelt down to her level, smiling warmly, giving a flash of his gold teeth.  
"Ello poppet," he said kindly, "My name is Jack, and this frighteningly unkempt man is my friend 'Ector. We found you in that rowboat," The girl nodded, and he continued, "Do you know 'ow you got in there?"  
"No," she said, shaking her head, "All I remember is waking up and seeing you shining a light on me." Jack nodded, thinking.  
"Do you remember anythin, luv? Your name, per'aps your parent's names?"  
"No," she said again, shaking her head, "My head hurts, sir. I can't remember." Jack reached out to brush her hair back, hushing her gently.  
"I won't 'urt you, luv," he said gently, turning her around, "I just want to see if you're 'urt." The girl relaxed, letting Jack look her over gently for any obvious injuries. He looked at the back of her head, some blood mixed in with her bright hair. He touched it gently, eliciting a wince from the small girl.  
"Just as I thought," he said, turning her to face him, "You bumped your 'ead pretty good there, sweetness. But we'll get you fixed up, right as rain." He ruffled her hair gently, gaining a small smile from the tiny girl.  
"Mr. Gibbs!" he said, "Please take our little friend below decks and tend to 'er 'ead while 'ector and I discuss matter, aye?" Gibbs nodded, reaching out for her hand.  
"Can you walk alright, little one?" he asked.  
"I think so," she mumbled, looking back over her shoulder at Jack.  
"Don't be afraid," he said encouragingly. She nodded, following the man below decks as Jack turned back to his friend.  
"And now we find ourselves in a quandary," Jack said, stroking his beard, "Our wee little lass doesn't remember a things, which means that she is either lost accidentally or lost very much on purpose, to which no good end can be found either way."  
"Then what do you propose we do?" Hector demanded, "Yer offerin many thoughts but no solutions, Jack."  
Jack stood, thinking a moment.  
"Do we still 'ave that satellite telephone?"

Brrrring.  
Brrrrring.

Chicha's eyes slid open, looking at the clock on her left sleepily. It was three in the morning. Who the hell was calling at three in the morning? She picked up the phone, pushing her sleep-mussed hair out of her face.  
"Hello?"  
"Ello luv," she heard Jack say from the other end. She sat bolt upright, sudden terror siezing her heart. Was he calling her from prison?  
"Jack? What's going on?" she demanded, straining to hear if there were any signs from the background of where he was.  
"Nothin bad, luv," he said, before sighing, "Well, sort of- wot sort of angry would you be if I brought you home a surprise?"  
"What kind of surprise?" she asked suspiciously.  
"She has two legs, a gorgeous mop of red hair, and she needs a good home," he said, his expectance of her rage apparent in his voice.  
"Are you saying...you're bringing home a child?" she demanded, "Jack, you can't just bring home children! It's parent's are probably looking for it!"  
"'Er," he corrected, "She's a little girl. An I found 'er in International waters without another livin soul for miles. Curled up in a lifeboat like Moses on the Nile."

She listened to Jack's tone, taken aback momentarily. She hadn't heard him talk like this in a long time, like he was totally enchanted by the thought of this little girl being theirs, of being a father. She felt her heart swell, smiling at nothing in particular.  
"Bring her home, Jackie dear," she said, Are you sure that she hasn't got anyone?"  
"Well, I thought maybe she'd know when she came aboard, but she wos just as confused as I wos," he said, "She doesn't remember a thing before ending up in that boat. Had a nasty bump on 'er poor little 'ead. She's alone, luv. She needs us."  
She was once again taken aback by the sincerity in Jack's tone, her heart already melting and set on it.  
"The poor dear," replied, "I told you to bring her home, didn't I? We'll work everything out then. Until then, though, take good care of her won't you?"  
"Naturally," he replied before hanging up.


	12. Sympathy For The Devil

Cutler Beckett was a patient man. He was a man who would crouch in wait, watching, hearing, learning until the moment was just right- the victory perfect. It was a quality that he had found in two collegues that he had found himself affiliated with. Mozenrath Banjeree and Jafar Odair were men with blood lust, but unbreakable patience. Birds of a feather flock together.

"What do we have to gain exactly from this?" Mozenrath demanded, looking at the older man contemptuously, "I see only you gaining anything from this little venture."  
"As much as I despise the pale whelp, he has a very good point," Jafar agreed. Cutler looked at them both, a smirk crossing his thin lips.  
"Gentlemen, you have not heard the entire proposal," he said, "You are focusing on one minute detail and not seeing the broader picture. While I wish to dispose of Jack due to a...personal slight, we will not be simply eliminating Jack. We will be eliminating The Account as a whole." He paused, watching as the gears turned in their heads.  
"This course of action has many benefits for you both. Mr. Odair will have the monopoly on crime. With The Account gone, where will everyone get their whores, drugs, and guns? They will turn to you. You have tidy business now, but imagine if your only competition were to be completely obliterated." Jafar sat quietly, his long fingers twisting his beard in thought. He turned to his assistant, motioning for him to write.  
"We need to cover our tracks completely. While there are no friends in the underground, one must be sure to keep out of police matters or be exiled as a pariah. Iago, do we have the funds to do this?"  
"Naturally," he replied, "We have more than enough to do it properly." Jafar nodded.  
"And what about me?" Mozenrath said, "So Mr. Odair benefits, but you have given me nothing that intrigues me."  
Beckett smiled, using only one word to draw the pale man in.  
"Cassim."  
"Is that all?" Mozenrath asked, brushing off Beckett's lynchpin easily.  
"Gene Anders," Beckett added.  
"You'll have the money tonight," Mozenrath said calmly, standing, "A warning, Cutler. Do not cross me," he said, his eyes burning, "I am not a man to be toyed with."  
"Certainly not," Beckett replied, "I merely offer a service in return for your support. Good business."

"Indulge me, my dearest friend," Rattigan said, "For old time's sake."  
Basil stared hard at the syringe in Rattigan's hand, fighting an internal battle. To break the dull tedium, to experience that clarity with the only person who had ever challenged him, his mouth watered at the thought. But he had turned away from that. He didn't want anything more to do with it. He put the belt around his arm, tapping the all too familiar vein and snatching the syringe from Rattigan's hand.

"I am contemplating the sheer idiocy of our friends in blue," Rattigan said, leaning back easily, "We have thus far been naught but a blip on their radar, a nuisance since you retired- but now they are breathing down our necks."  
"There is no such thing as coincidence," Basil said thoughtfully, reclining himself, "Which leads one to ask the most obvious question- who is interested in you."  
"Obvious, indeed," Rattigan snorted, "I wasted good money on that?"  
"You aren't thinking," Basil replied, "Who is interested in you?" Rattigan thought, stroking his chin.  
"An outside force. And one with power and a grudge. But who?"  
"Perhaps you are not the target, but an obstacle," Basil ruminated.  
"And who is the target?"

Before either could think on it any further, there was a loud knocking at the door before a man stepped in. He shook the rain from himself, running his fingers through his auburn hair before turning to the two men.  
"Iago, my friend. What brings you here?" Rattigan asked.  
"Your kid sure knows how to piss people off," he said, shaking his head.  
"My kid?" Rattigan thought hard, drawing a blank.  
"Jack Sparrow? That miserable-"  
"Yes," Rattigan interrupted him.  
"Do you know who Cutler Beckett is?" Iago asked before continuing.  
"The man owns half of California. Of course I do," Rattigan replied irritably.  
"He's after Jack Sparrow's head. And he recruited Jafar and Mozenrath to get to him. He wants to take you all out," Iago looked around nervously, inching back to the door, "I gotta go. You never know who is listening." With that, he slipped out the door, leaving as many questions as answers in his wake.


	13. With Arms Wide Open

"Don't be afraid, luv," Jack whispered encouragingly to the little one happily perched on his lap.  
"I'm not afraid Daddy," she said, looking up at him, "But what should I call her?" Jack stroked his beards.  
"A fine question, Queen of the Sea," he said, "Well, call her Mother. Or Mummy. Mom. Mama. Other words that describe the maternal creature." She shrugged, smiling.  
"I like Mother," she announced, her hands on the wheel, "Mother and Daddy."  
"An Ariel," he added, "Mother, Daddy, and Queen-Of-The-Sea Ariel."  
"Daddy!" she giggled.  
"Wot?" he demanded, "Oh, right. I beg your pardon, Her-Royal-Highness-Queen-Of-The-Sea-Ariel." Ariel scrambled off his lap, looking at him closely. Since she had been found, she had no memories of where she came from. It didn't matter...it felt like she had always been here. Like Daddy was always her Daddy, and Mother was always her Mother. She already loved the way Mother looked. Daddy had a picture of her in his wallet, linking arms with some other lady Daddy called Aunt Marisol. She had kept the picture in her dress, looking at it when she wanted some comfort. She pulled it out again, looking at it and remembering when Daddy introduced them on the phone.

"Hi," she whispered into the telephone, afraid to be too loud.  
"Hi there, sweetness," Mother said back like they had talked a thousand times, "Are you taking care of Daddy?"  
"Yup!" she replied brightly, "I helped steer the boat today!"  
"Did you? That's my girl. I'm so excited fo you to come home. What would you like to eat for your welcome home dinner?" she asked.  
"Ummm...I want..." she paused, looking up at Jack, "Daddy, what do we want for our welcome home dinner?" Jack leaned down, whispering in her ear. She grinned, nodding quickly, "That sounds great! We want enpanadas!" She listened to the sound of Mother's laugh, smiling. It was a nice sound, warm. Like being cuddled in a fluffy towel.  
"I love you," Mother said to her before she hung up.  
"I love you too," Ariel whispered back. She didn't want to say it too loud, because she didn't know if she really loved Mother yet. She had to meet her to know. But she had a feeling she really did love her. She looked out the window, peeking at her new home with curiosity. It was a bit dingy, and the ocean wasn't that close, but she didn't mind it. Jack climbed out of the old truck, opening her door and picking her up.  
"No walking for you, Queen of the Sea," he said, "Piggy back or like a princess?"  
"Piggyback!" she exclaimed, hopping on his back as he turned around. She clung to him tightly as he walked up the stairs, nudging the door open with his book.  
"Luv, we're 'ome!" he called out, setting Ariel down. She looked around the apartment, smiling. It felt like home, the smell of cooking food and familiarity swirling around her though she'd never been there before. Chicha walked out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron and kissing Jack on the cheek.  
"I missed you," she whispered, touching his cheek, "Where's my baby?"  
Ariel turned around, looking up at Chicha with a hesitant smile. She didn't know what to do until Chicha swept her up in her arms, hugging her close. She took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of her mother; a mixture of spice and vanilla and_home_. She clung to Chicha, not wanting to let go.  
"Welcome home, Mi Reina," Chicha whispered in her ear, "I'm so happy you're here."  
"I love you," Ariel whispered back, knowing this time she meant it. She was safe and wanted and where she belonged. She was home.


	14. Dance With The Devil

"What do we have?" James demanded from the weary group of investigators before him. He had Beckett hot on his heels for information, and as sorry as he felt for his friends, he was more intimidated by his employer. Mulan glared at him hard, chewing on her lip.  
"Well, we know Sparrow is back in California, and in the L.A. area. We aren't really sure what he's up to, but we do know that he has found a stable place to live."  
James blinked, processing what Mulan had just said.  
"He's not living a vagrant lifestyle anymore?" he asked, "How do we know that?" Merida piped up from her corner.  
"We got a false lead that he had hopped on a ship heading for Barbados; but one of our informants told us it was false information planted by Rattigan to throw us off. We got a name here that we've never seen before from our informant. Apparently he's shacking up with a girl named Chicha Apaza, an illegal immigrant from Peru who used to work on one of the produce farms out in the boonies. And from what we gather, she has a child, even though the girl looks nothing like her."  
Mulan tossed a large folder on the table.  
"We saved the best news for last," she said, "We figured out where The Account is meeting."  
It was as if all the air had been sucked out of the room.  
"And?" James demanded, barely able to contain himself.  
"The Court of Miracles," she said simply.  
"Fuck," Phil swore from his end of the table, making everyone look at him. He ran his fingers through his hair, sighing.  
"That won't do us any good," he said, "I've busted The Court of Miracles twice- fucking Troufiellou. That bastard always manages to come out clean as the driven snow. Unless we know when they're meeting, there's no point in going. It's a disaster waiting to happen."  
"Then we find out when they meet," Herc pointed out, "Can't be that hard."  
"You have no idea," Mulan snapped, "These guys are not _stupid_," she shot a look at Norrington before continuing, "They have two things we can't take from them- one, the public's support. Every crime we manage to bring them in on, there's an angle that makes them sympathetic. Two, unwaivering loyalty from all their associates. Even their damn hookers won't talk to us, and it isn't out of fear. How are we supposed to take them down?" The look on her face was clear to everyone else, her unspoken feelings on the situation- _And why do we want to now? _  
"We find their Achillies' heel," Herc said simply, "Hit 'em where they're weak. So Sparrow has this woman and her kid in his life. We bring them in and hit him where it'll hurt him most."  
"That's cheating," Mulan hissed.  
"No. That's what we have to do," Phil said, "Look, I hate the idea just as much as you, Lonny. But sometimes you have to do the wrong thing for the right reasons."  
Merida and Mulan shared a heavy glance that was unreadable by the rest of the group before Mulan sighed.  
"Fine. But before we do that, let's try and bust them all at a meeting, okay?" she asked, "Let us at least pretend to fight fair."  
_

"Just go by yourself," Chicha said, brushing out Ariel's hair, glancing up at Jack, "Hector will be there. Just meet up with him. I don't need to go."  
"I don't want you two 'ere alone," he responded, looking out the window nervously, "I 'ave a bad feelin about tonight." Chicha stood up, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her head against his back. He could feel her heartbeat, making him even more nervous. She was his. All or nothing.  
"No discussin it," he said, "Both of you need to come. Ariel 'as met everyone, it's like a family reunion for 'er. I just don't want you 'ere alone."  
"If it's that important Jackie, we'll go," she said, kissing his spine gently before ushering Ariel off to get dressed.  
His responsibility. His girls, his heart and soul, walking away from him to get dressed. He turned to the window again, unable to shake off the feeling roiling in his gut. He grabbed the phone from the wall, punching the familiar number from memory. He held his breath, waiting for an answer.  
"What do ye want, and be quick about it," Hector grunted.  
"'Ector, it's Jack," he said, licking his lips, "Somethin...something doesn't feel right."  
"How so, Jack?" Hector asked.  
"Do you know that feelin when you feel like things 'ave been too quiet for too long?" he asked.  
"Aye," the older man replied.  
"I've got that feelin." There was a measured silence on the other end and Jack could tell Hector was thinking.  
"I've been thinkin the same thing," he finally said, "Been too calm. Bizzies been too sneaky for me likin."  
"I'm making the girls come with me to the meetin," he said.  
" Ain't yer best idea, but it'll do," Hector replied, "Them lassies don't need to be all alone. Not with things as they be. Be careful boy," he warned, "Seas always be calmest before the tempest."  
_

It was clear that everyone was on edge that evening. They all felt the oppresive presence of the police; their lack of intel causing discomfort. It was as if everyone was holding their breath.  
"Somethin be commin," Tia Dalma said, breaking the heavy silence, "An we be right in it's path. Fate be commin to collect."  
Everyone looked at Rattigan, who had not shown any change since he sat down. He finally shifted, pulling out a cigarette.  
"We face what comes as we have faced all other odds," he said simply, inhaling deeply, "I have already taken the liberty of disposing of any incriminating evidence or items here and in your homes."  
"You don't be understandin," Tia Dalma said, looking at them all intensely, "There be no hidin from the storm that be brewin. There be forces involved that you can't imagine." She looked at Jack, "You be in the most danger, witty Jack. A man be lookin for you with the fires of hell lightin his way. He be a demon. Knowin you be a death warrant."  
"Doesn't matter," Genie said, "Jack's one of us. We don't turn our back on our own."  
"Jack may have slighted me, but I won't throw him like meat to those dogs," Milly said, folding her arms.  
"We aren't even discussing this," chimed in Clopin, "It won't be done."  
"Jack, you should skip town," Cassim added, "When things got dicey back in Boston, I hit pavement. I know you don't want to leave because of the girls, but you have to look at it this way- being around you is as dangerous for them as being without you."  
It was the most that anyone had ever heard Cassim say in many months, and it was the most personal thing he'd ever said too. Jack sat still as stone, his mind working hard on the information before him.  
"If you go, they won't be alone," Genie said quietly.  
"Ye know that, Jack. We unfortunately have become attached to the lassies," Hector added, "They be all our responsibility."  
He couldn't decide.

Suddenly the overhead intercom buzzed to life.  
"Dust out, City Pigs are busting."

"Fuck!" Genie yelled, as everyone started swarming. Jack grabbed Ariel, lifting her up easily before grabbing Chicha's hand and dragging them for one of the many exits that Clopin had put in. They came out into the alley just as they heard the cops slamming into the meeting room. Suddenly they were blinded by a light.  
_

"Freeze!" Mulan shouted, pointing the gun and flashlight at Jack. It was the first time she had ever seen him in person, and the pictures were a bit off. He wasn't exactly the imposing figure that was displayed in the photos, but he seemed a bit more dangerous in person- like a feral, underfed feline. He raised one arm, the other wrapped around something.  
"Arms up!" she yelled.  
"Listen to me," he said calmly, "Let me set down my daughter. Don't scare 'er any more than she already 'as been." Mulan watched as he set down the little girl, before she ran and buried her face in the woman's skirt. Jack slowly raised both arms, falling to his knees. He folded his arms behind his head, looking into the light.  
"Please, let my family go. They didn't do anything to anyone. Let them run away from 'ere. Just let them run and I'll cooperate."  
"Why should I do that?" Mulan asked intensely.  
"Becos they never hurt anyone," he said, "Their only crime is bein loved by a bad man."

Mulan froze. The paradox again. The Chinese angle, the one thing they couldn't figure out about The Account was right here. He was gonna turn himself in, in exchange for his family's safety. Not a typical criminal. She lowered the light, looking at him closely before glancing at the young woman behind him.  
"Why," she whispered.  
"Wot?" he asked, looking confused. She looked at the frightened girls, before looking back at Jack.  
"Get up," she said, "Get up and get the hell out of here. Don't go home. We bugged it, my partners are probably still there." Jack stood, walking close to Mulan.  
"Thanks luv," he said, grabbing her hand and shaking it. He turned, grabbing Ariel and Chicha and running. She glanced down at her hand, seeing a slip of paper with a phone number on it.  
Another Chinese angle.

"What happened?" Norrington yelled, running up the alley behind her, "We heard yelling." Mulan crumpled the paper up, sticking it in her pocket.  
"Thought I had Sparrow cornered, turned out it was a stripper. I told her to get outta here," Mulan said, staring down the alleyway. Norrington threw down his cuffs, obviously pissed. He ran his fingers through his hair, livid.  
"We have only one of those bastards in custody," he said, "And it's the one we can never convict."  
"Troufiellou?" she asked, smirking.  
"What are you smirking at?" he demanded.  
"Karma," she said quietly, before turning on her heel.


	15. In The Hall Of The Mountain King

Jack grabbed Chicha's arm, dragging her and Ariel through a labyrinth of alleyways untill they came to an SUV and a Neon parked facing different directions. The SUV's door swung open, and Jack pushed Chicha and Ariel inside. He took Ariel's face in his hands, kissing her cheek gently.  
"My little queen of the sea, I need you to be good and take care of your mother for me," he rushed, his voice shaking. He looked up at Chicha, her usually golden skin pale.  
"Jack..."  
"I'll be back," he hushed her,"I'll be back." He looked up and nodded to Genie's hulking figure in the front seat, climbing out and slamming the door shut. He tapped the side of the SUV twice and it sped off.

Suddenly there was a loud pop and the metallic sound of a bullet ricocheting in the alley. The neon snapped to life, the door flung open.  
"Get yer sorry arse in here boy!" Hector yelled, grabbing the back of his shirt and dragging him in. Hector stepped on the gas, whipping out of the alley way and onto the main drag, whipping every which way. He reached down, punching a button on the radio.  
"Wot in the bloody 'ell is this?" Jack yelled over the obscenely loud classical music blaring from the speakers.  
"That, Jack," he yelled,"Is culture. I recommend you get some. This be one of me favorites! 5th symphony, 1st movement; Beethoven. Makes yer blood sing, does it not?" With that, he rolled down the window and with on hand on the wheel and one clutching a hand pistol,began firing rounds at the car behind them,cackling.  
"This is what I been needin, boy! A good old-fashioned car chase!" Jack reached over, yanking his arm back in.  
"Will you stop that!?"he demanded, "And turn this racket off!" Barbossa turned him with a nasty grin.  
"Then perhaps this track?" he asked, clicking the button ahead a track.  
"THIS IS WORSE, YOU OLD GIT!" he yelled,reaching into the glove compartment and pulling out a gun, "I'll turn it off myself then!" He pointed the gun at the radio, only to feel still hot metal against the side of his head.  
"Jackie, shoot the men chasin us, not me radio," he commanded, sticking the gun back out the window,"Flight of the Valkyries! IT NEVER GETS OLD, THANK YE WAGNER!" He let out another cackle, pumping shots into the tires of the SUV following them.  
"Stop!" Jack yelled, pulling a bag from under his seat, "Now we choose- death, or immobility?"  
"Death!" Barbossa replied, grinning.  
"Immobility it is then," he said, tying a rope around the bag. He released it and fished it beneath the car following them,just in the right spot-

The explosion rattled them both, making Barbossa jerk the wheel hard to the left before righting himself once more. They both peeked back to see the front tires gone, the SUV hugging a lightpost as men tumbled from the doors like rag dolls.  
One man in particular caught his attention.  
"Mercer," he muttered, watching his figure shrink.

Cutler breathed deeply, trying to keep his normally cool temper in check.  
In, out. In, out.

"What do you mean he's disappeared again?" he said as calmly as he could, sounding all the more dangerous. He glared over at his right-hand man, Ian Mercer, "I thought I told you that it was imperative that this should not go wrong?"  
"You did sir," Mercer replied.  
"And you were unable to do this simple task?"  
"He had explosives, sir. We were not prepared for that," he said,his voice almost a growl.  
"Explosives?" Cutler demanded,"He's smarter than we gave him credit for. He always seems to pull something out of his sleeve to throw us off. But no matter."  
"Sir?"  
Cutler sat back in his seat, thinking deeply. Jack was more than likely on the run at this point; but as he took his tactical retreat, he had left his assets wide woman and child he kept with him were probably protected right at the moment, but the Account's forces would soon be spread thin due to the rash of "busts" that were occurring at several of the safe houses and businesses owned by the Account. They soon would become a low priority.  
"I would like for you to go to Mr. Sparrow's home tomorrow evening.I shall be accompanying you. That is all for now," he said, watching the man retreat.

The SUV pulled in front of the apartment building, and Chicha looked around in was Jack and Hector? She watched as Genie got out of the car, a large automatic in his hands.  
"Stay put," he commanded,walking around the back and inside the building, seemingly searching for any waiting men or traps. He came out the front, climbed out, lifting Ariel and gently standing her on the ground. Gene came over, standing behind them and directing them.  
"Straight upstairs, into the all the doors and windows; don't answer unless I radio you to" He handed her a small walkie-talkie, pushing her,"Don't waste time. I'll be in the apartment below on lookout. It'll probably be a full house by the end of the were all hit;"he said, shaking his head.  
"Hit?" she asked, moving up the stairs as quickly as she could.  
"Yeah," he said,"Seems the police were tipped to all our businesses and hideouts. They were waiting for half of us when we got there. All of Milly's girls were taken in; she got out by jumping out a fucking window. She's insane...but I'm glad they didn't get her. She has a couple warrents that'd put her behind bars for life."  
"What about Everyone else?" she asked, yanking the door to the apartment open.  
"I'll radio it to you. Now do as you're told;I have to set up downstairs."  
She nodded, watching his hulking figure retreat before slamming the door shut. She locked all the doors, windows,and pushed herlarge Boudoir over Jack's escape route under the floor. She felt her whole body give in to the tremors she had held in for fear of looking weak.  
"Ariel," she said quietly, waving her over,"Do you think you could pack a bag of your clothes, baby? Enough for a couple of days."  
"Why?" she asked,looking up at her mother with wide eyes. She kissed the child's forehead.  
"Uncle Gene is looking out for people that want to hurt us, and in case..." she stopped,unable to complete the thought.  
"...In case Uncle Gene gets hurt," Ariel finished quietly. Chicha nodded, biting her lip.  
"Okay mommy," she said, heading to her room. Chicha felt a crush in her chest; seeing Ariel react so far beyond her age and so calm. She shook it off; she had a responsibility to help Gene and to protect her daughter. She padded into hers and Jack's bedroom, opening the large chest at the foot of the bed. Inside held Jack's personal arsenal; a collection of guns and weapons that were all personally provided by lifted out the heavy sniper gun, feeling the cold smooth metal beneath her fingertips.

_"Okay luv," he breathed gently,"Now, you aim way if you miss, you're still 'itting the general area you wanted to. Look at the target. Aim for the center o' the chest." _  
_She followed his instructions, aiming directly for the sternum. _  
_"Now, I wont you to inhale deeply, and as you exhale, squeeze the trigger gently as you count to three." _  
_She took a deep breath, zeroing in or her target. Inhale, one,two, three...exhale, one, two, three..._

_She felt the recoil as it slammed her upper body hard, almost taking the wind out of her. She looked over at Jack, who was grinning crazily. _  
_"Perfect, luv. Soon that recoil'll be nothin at all," he said,kissing her cheek gently._

She walked over to the front facing window, setting up her own stake out spot directly below Gene.  
"I'm at the top window," she radioed down to Gene,"You can't cover the whole street alone."  
"I thought I told you to hide?" he radioed back, his amusement apparent.  
"I don't listen to Jack, why do people expect me to listen to them?" she retorted,"Now, who all do we know was taken?"  
There was nothing for a few minutes.  
"Clopin, Esmé, Tia Dalma..." he paused,"We lost Fidget."  
"What do you mean,lost?" Chicha demanded.  
"Took a bullet for the boss. In the neck."  
Chicha sat back, shocked. Fidget wasn't exactly adored by everyone in the Account...by she and Ariel had a very soft spot for Rattigan's bodyguard. She shook her head, trying to focus.  
_Mourn the dead when you've made it out of this alive._


	16. Every Teardrop is a Waterfall

"Still alive up there?"Gene asked,his voice gruff. It had been a long night already, and morning was approaching.  
"Yeah," she said quietly. She looked, seeing a strange car on the street. The same people drove up and down the street everyday like clockwork, and this car was slowly creeping down the block...like it was looking for something. She watched with bated breath as the car parked, turned off, and no one emerged.  
"Gene," she radioed.  
"Steady girl," he responded, "It's Milly. She's checking that the coast is clear. For the love of God, just go to bed,will you? I know Jack trained you as well as he could,but a lot of this is hurry up and wait without wanting to shoot everything that looks funny."  
"Fine." She reached to turn off the radio, but thought twice about it. It was hard for her to release control, to let Gene just do what he did best- when everything was so chaotic, she had to have control. If Jack were there, she would've let him take control.  
Gene was the next best thing, she supposed.

She sat up in the morning,rubbing her eyes as thoughts ran through her head like it had all night. Who was still alive? Who wasn't in jail? She looked over at the walkie-talkie, picking it up. She took a deep breath, trying to make herself as happy as possible.  
"Good morning Gene," she said cheerfully.  
"Coffee," was his clipped response.  
"Of course, but I need you to see if we have a few things in the basement."  
"What?"  
"Acetone and muriatic acid."  
There was a long pause.  
"Okay. But I expect that to be the best damn coffee that has ever been brewed by a mexican."  
"We aim to please," she responded, heading to the kitchen.  
She tittered around the kitchen, busying herself with a breakfast fit for a king, or a horde of kings. She was busying herself in any way possible to keep her mind of the uncertainty that surrounded her, taking comfort in such a simple activity that she would've done any normal morning. Just as she began making churros, she looked over to see Ariel yawning in the doorway.  
"Mummy, whatcha doin?" she asked, pulling herself up on one of the kitchen chairs.  
"Morning, Reina," she said,walking over and giving her a kiss on the head," I'm making breakfast for Uncle Gene and anyone else who may have come in the night. Here, drink." She set a tall mug of hot chocolate in front of her daughter, watching happily as she gulped it down, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.  
"What do you want for your breakfast? I made torrijas and churros; then I made waffles and your Daddy's favorite, bacon and eggs."  
"Bacon and eggs!" she yelled, but looked at her mother demanding, "And one churro?"  
"Okay baby, but sit on your butt before you fall!" she scolded gently.  
"Make my eggs and bacon into a sandwich cause I wanna go down and see who's here," she said, "I wanna see if Uncle Rattigan is here, because if Uncle Rattigan is here, Fidget is here, and he always plays monster and princess with me."  
Chicha bit her lip, the remembrance of Fidget's demise clear in her head. She bit her lip.  
"Baby...Fidget...he won't be there," she said quietly.  
"Oh,"Ariel said sadly,"Did he get killed too?"  
"Ariel, don't talk like that," she admonished her.  
"Why not? It's not like it isn't true," she mumbled, sliding out of her seat,"I'm gonna go get dressed."  
Chicha watched Ariel walk off to her bedroom, shaking her head. How could there be so much sass in one little body? She gathered up as much food at once as she could, radioing Gene that she was coming walked down the stairs,nudging the door open with her hip and almost dropping all the food she brought down.

Everyone looked like they had just escaped a war zone, huddled in small groups; dirty, hunched, and glancing around suspiciously. Milly's face was paler than usual, her always wild hair even more out of control than usual; Cassim looked as if he was scanning every possible escape short of suicide if they were found.  
"I...I brought coffee and breakfast,"she said quietly, setting the containers down on the table. Rattigan emerged from a back room, looking cool and well-groomed as always, save for a gentle favoring of his left side. She felt a wash of relief, seeing that he had made it. The older crime lord's presence was a comfort.  
"Thank you, Chicha," he responded, "Your hospitality is more than appreciated." She nodded, looking around the desolate faces surrounding her. It hadn't been an easy night for her, but seeing all her and Jack's friends looking so..defeated, it was disconcerting.  
"Did everyone lose their home last night?" she asked softly.  
"The Court Of Miracles is still standing," Milly said sadly, "But.. we all lost a lot last night."  
"Someone came behind the police and started torching everything," Cassim spat, "As soon the pigs were gone, everything burst into flames."  
Milly glanced over at Rattigan, her face etched with worry,"And Fidget..."  
"We will not discuss Oroson's fate," he said harshly. The room filled with tension that was suddenly broken by Gene's voice over the radios.  
"Unknown car approaching. Oh and I have what you asked for, Chicha."  
"Right, thank you," she said, hooking the walkie-talkie back on her hip. She turned and left the room, heading downstairs to the garage to Gene.  
"So, where's my chemicals?" she demanded,walking over to him.  
"Table," he replied, staring out the window. She nodded, leaning over and grabbing a few of the many packs of c-4 that Jack kept around and sneakily tucked it in her apron. She didn't want any of them knowing quite how able she was yet. It was selfish, but she wanted her daughter to have at least one parent. If they knew what she was capable of, they'd stick a gun in her hands and put her right out there with Gene.  
"Okay, thanks dear,"she said, slipping out the door.

She was inserting the blasting cap and detonator wire into the c-4 when Ariel came back into the apartment, looking quite satisfied with herself.  
"What are you smirking about?" Chicha asked, not taking her eyes off the compound.  
"I talked to Uncle Rattigan," she said smugly.  
"That's rare," she responded,not as interested as she normally would've been.  
"He says I'm a very perceptive little brat."  
"Sweetheart, that's not exactly a compliment," Chicha said,setting down her tools, "There. Stay away from Uncle Rattigan, okay? He's not in his normal frame of mind."  
"Uncle Rattigan doesn't have a normal frame of mind,"she responded, rolling her eyes.  
"Don't sass me, little lady,"Chicha admonished, pinching her daughters cheek firmly, "Now go find something to do. And don't go in my closet, got it?" Ariel rolled her eyes and nodded, heading off to her room. Chicha picked up the radio, clicking it on.  
"Gene, what's the situation looking like?" she asked.  
"Clear as of now. Rattigan will be giving the clearence for everyone to head out to wherever they'll be hiding out in a bit. Then you'll have your home back."  
"Thanks," she said quietly, clicking the radio off. She gathered another tray of refreshments and drinks, heading downstairs once more. She entered silently, knowing that most everyone was trying to get sleep. She crept past everyone, approaching Rattigan. He was sitting in the armchair, a cigarette dangling between his fingers as he stared out the window.  
"Professor Rattigan?" she said quietly, snapping him from whatever private thoughts he was having. He looked up, gesturing for her to sit in a seat next to him. She set down the tray, obliging him.  
"James," he said softly, "You can call me James when it's just you and I." She looked at the imposing man across from him, seeing the age etched in his face.  
"James," she repeated. He nodded, reaching out for a glass of lemonade that she had brought down. He sipped it, lost in thought.  
"I know your father," he said, setting downthe glass, "I used to import cocaine for Atoch. Good man. Left the business because of you."  
"I'm sorry," she said softly, looking at her hands. He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head.  
"Any man who can put his child before the trade is a good man. You shouldn't apologize. But I can't help but think he'd be furious if he knew what you were doing here," he said, "But that isn't what I'm concerned with." He looked at her sharply, his eyes unnerving her, "What will you do now that Jack is on the run?"  
"I...I don't know," she said quietly, "I'll find a job bartending, maybe waitressing. Worst comes to worst, I go back to the farm." Rattigan snorted, taking a deep drag of his cigarette.  
"Indeed," he said, "We'll find you a safe job for now if you insist, but I'll give you a monthly stipend." Chiha opened her mouth to protest, only to be cut off by Rattigan, "Two thousand should be enough to cover everything. Jack is like a son to me in some ways- I'll rest easier knowing that I am caring for his future wife and his child. It will be one of the few things I've done in this wretched life that is worthwhile." Chicha wanted to argue, but knew it was pointless. He finished the cigarette, looking over at her.  
"Go on, tend to your daughter. Rest easy knowing that you're under our protection," he said, looking back out the window. She rose, but he reached out and grabbed her wrist. He reached into his pocket, withdrawing a small brown paper package. She looked at it, seeing Fidget's untidy scrawl across it. _For Ari_.  
"Jeremiah had that in his pocket when he died," Rattigan said softly, "Give it to the girl." She nodded, tiptoeing out of the room with tears in her eyes. How could anyone attack these people? They were good people...they just chose bad career paths. She walked into their apartment, going to Ariel's room and tapping on the door before she entered. Ariel looked up from her book, smiling. "Is that for me?"  
"Yes," she choked out, giving it to her. Ariel too the package, her face falling and tears welling in her eyes.  
"For Ari," Ariel sobbed, "It's from Fidget." She tore open the package carefully on the taped seams, her little lip caugh between her teeth in concentration. She opened the box carefully, closing her eyes. Chicha peered into the box and almost cried.  
It was a box full of sand and sea glass and tiny shells. Just a week or so ago, Rattigan had taken a trip to the bahamas on business and Ariel had begged Fidget to bring her back something from the beach. The man had told her gruffly that she was spoiled, but now with a tiny box tucked in her palm she knew how much he cared. They sat side by side, mother and daughter crying in for the memory of the man with a bum leg and a queer way of speaking.


End file.
